[28] The candiru fails to make an appearance, perhaps an indication that the fish may only be endemic in certain parts of the Amazon. The taxonomy of South American catfishes is complex, much revised,[18, 29] and appears, at times, controversial. Adding to the problem, explorers individually named the specimen they came across for lack of reference works. It is often not even clear if they talk about the same fish, especially

when descriptions and sizes of the fish vary tremendously. Given the similarity of many species, and the early explorers’ lack of suitable instrumentation to distinguish this website between them, the lack of agreement is not surprising. When Gustav Wallis discussed the fish in 1864 (his notes were published by Müller in 1870 as a series of journal articles[10]), he planned to ensure that his one specimen, kept in spiritus, would reach the appropriate “scientific hands” to get a scientific name which it not yet had. Usually, fish were kept in any grog at hand and deteriorated to the point where they could not be typified at all. As Eigenmann wrote: “with fishes as rare as these and as

small…the question arises whether the differences are due to the fact Selleckchem PF 2341066 that one worker uses a hand lens and the other a binocular microscope with an arc spotlight…”[14] He emphasized the authority of his statements because of his technical Edoxaban advantage, whereas his “distinguished predecessors” Pellegrin, de Castelnau, Valenciennes, and Cuvier had only hand lenses. The candiru is a catfish of the genus Vandellia, order Siluriformes; the species Vandellia cirrhosa represents the “typical” candiru discussed here.

It is a small, slender transparent fish about 3–5 cm long. It feeds on blood from gills of larger fish and has, for this purpose, opercular spines that are used to hold on and provide sufficient space for feeding. These are the very same spines that create so much excitement in the general public. Although candirus are said to be attracted to urine, their predilection for urine, or any substance for that matter, has never been demonstrated. Literature in fish biology, studying the candiru’s feeding habits, is inconclusive[18, 30, 31] and does not indicate any evidence of attacks on humans. Perhaps, it is a case of “entry by mistake”? The size of the fish certainly allows its accommodation in a urethra. However, with no oxygen available and no room to “swim” up the urethra it is unlikely that the fish survives even minutes. It definitely cannot “make its home” in there. Never mind the physical impossibility of swimming up a liquid column, should the “urinator” be standing above the water level—an event dismissed by von den Steinen[12] as “humbug” (Münchauseniade). The critical questions posed by Vinton and Stickler in 1941[15] still remain unanswered today.